


I Have a Girlfriend in Canada

by ChapstickLez



Category: Rookie Blue
Genre: F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-02-27 01:11:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2673287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChapstickLez/pseuds/ChapstickLez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you're at a bar and you tell people you have a girlfriend in Canada, it feels like a trope. And a little bit of a lie. And you hate everything except your job and you miss her, but she's not really your girlfriend, is she?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. California

"Sorry, I have a girlfriend. In Canada."

"Oh. Right," and she leaves you alone.

It's not really a lie, you tell yourself. You have a friend with whom you have sex who lives in Canada. Even though you've only had sex twice since you moved, there have been countless hours spent on the phone, texting, or Skyping. There was phone sex more than once. It was interesting.

But you don't know if you can really call Gail your girlfriend anymore. That ship has sailed long and far away, and here you are at a lesbian bar in San Francisco, regretting the series of choices that landed you here.

Getting together with Gail in the first place had been an accident. You'd never planned to fall hard for someone right before you knew you were leaving the country. Keep it light, keep it simple. That's what Lisa kept telling you. She was right, too. You should have kept it light and simple and not stomped over Gail's heart like fucking Godzilla.

But you did. You totally did and you tried to apologize, but you remembered the first time a girl you liked screwed with you like that. And there was only one thing to do. Cut it off. Keep it light. Move on and dabble, because Holly Stewart was moving up in the world. Moving up and on and out and to San Fran-fucking-cisco.

It was a colossal mistake. From day one, you mishandled everything about Gail. You shouldn't have kissed her in the coat closet. God knows you should never have kissed her in the shower when she was vulnerable and open, but you didn't know what else to do. She was so shell shocked and hurt and, for crying out loud, she'd kissed _you_ first!

Except she wouldn't have if you hadn't in the beginning, so it's clearly still all on you.

You look at the tequila shot before you and wince. Gail likes tequila. She'd introduced you to tequila body shots one night, and the memory still makes you shiver. Gail's great at that, making you shiver and shudder. She unabashedly likes sex, which you like too, just not that openly and blatantly. Gail likes sex with you as well, which was a relief to learn at the time. Now it's just depressing.

Depending on how you drive, it's either 40 hours and 4200 kilometers, or 42 hours and 4500 kilometers to drive back to Toronto. It would be fastest to drive in the United States most of the way, even if that means driving through Iowa and Wyoming. As its winter, driving would be stupid, and it's not like you can just say fuck it and get in the car and leave.

Among other things, Gail won't let you.

She'd told you that you absolutely had to do this. After a short argument about how stupid Holly was for not telling her beforehand, and perhaps you would be wiser to let potential girlfriends know you're leaving _before_ you sleep with them, she told you live was too short to keep being pissed off and hurt. Pissed at you, at least. Lisa was fair game, she insisted. You, still smitten and smarting, agreed.

You run your finger around the rim of the glass, smiling and remembering that night. It might have been more productive to talk, but the minute you'd gotten to your place, there had only been one ending to the night. You didn't regret it at all. You needed her and she needed you and you both needed to feel something good for a change.

It was after that you talked about California and Sophie and how you'd both moved on in different ways.

She didn't ask you to stay. She told you to go, to do this and to be excellent.

And you listened. You knew she was right, but you told her you'd be coming back for work and for family. She gave you the smile, full of teeth and empty of bite, and suggested you get a nice hotel. At least until she moved out of the frat house.

All of this ends with you sitting in a stupid bar, dragged by your coworkers who are too much like Lisa and seem to think that the best way to get out there is to go out there and … You have a girlfriend in Canada. No thanks, you're not interested.

"That sounds like a line," says the woman on the other side of you, having watched the whole encounter.

"Hows that?" You sigh and think that after this drink, you're just going home. You can't call Gail, she's working the night shift and is probably wrapping up and going home soon.

The woman grins at you. "Lots of people lie about sex, saying they have a girlfriend in Canada."

You arch your eyebrows. You'd heard about that, from TV and movies, but this woman seemed to be saying that actually happened. "Oh," you manage to say. "I'm Canadian."

She makes an 'ah' of understanding. "That's less of a line." You both sip your drinks. "So if you have this Canadian girlfriend, why are you here at a bar?"

You laugh. "That's complicated," you admit. Complicated and stupid and reckless, and pretty much that describes your whole relationship with Gail. Except for the stupid part. You're pretty sure it wasn't stupid at all, just ill-timed.

The woman looks around. "I got dumped this morning by 'the one.'" Her announcement catches you off guard. "Seriously, we're eating breakfast and she says she's moving to New York."

"That … wow." That sounds vaguely familiar to you telling Gail you were leaving. "Did she ask you to come with?"

"No," laughs the woman.

You mull that over for a moment, wondering if that makes it better or worse that you asked. "I asked her to come with," you find yourself admitting.

She eyes you. "Not to the bar."

"Here. America. But she's got a … thing." A child. Maybe. Possibly. Probably not, really. Gail was such a damn long shot for that, but she was clearly trying.

"Oh, you're the run-away?"

"Job of my dreams," you reply, bitterly. And that's the stupid part. You do love the job. It's everything you've wanted to do most of your life. Ever since you decided to work as a pathologist, you had this _Quincy_ dream and it's becoming a reality and all you need is a houseboat and Gail and it'll be perfect.

What you've got is an apartment that's twice the price and a quarter the size of your townhouse in Toronto. That's before you did the math for the exchange rate. You sigh and look at the tequila again.

"This is the part where you dump your shit on a stranger."

"And we go make out in the back? No thanks," you laugh. It feels like you're being defensive, but you pull your phone out and show her the picture you took of Gail before you left. She's got that smile.

The woman leans over and makes an appreciative noise. "She looks like a heartbreaker."

That's what Nick said too. He'd always known Gail was going to break his heart. You'd never felt that way. "So I've been told," you admit.

"How's long distance working out?" She sounds hopeful, as if there's a chance for herself and her 'the one' somewhere out there.

You shrug. "Kind of. I went home for the holidays." She looks at you, confused. "Canadian Thanksgiving was last month."

Every single moment you'd not been busy with your family and other friends demanding your time, you spent with Gail, too. Somehow you manage not to turn beet red at that memory.

And your new friend seems to understand that, nodding. "I don't want to do that. I like the coming home to someone."

You wonder what that's like. The closest you came with Gail was when you'd started dating and she pretty much was over every chance she got. "Sounds nice," you grumble.

The woman beside you looks confused. "You weren't living together?"

"No, we were… It's really complicated." You said it before, but it's still true. "We broke up."

"Oh, so she's your ex-with-benefits?"

"No!" You say it a little louder than you mean to. "It's not like that." Except it totally is. Calling Gail a friend with benefits is a hell of a lot closer to what's really going on.

Your nameless companion reads between the lines. "You're still totally hung up on her. Sucks."

"She said I was the best thing that ever happened to her." You're morose and you know it.

"Wow," admits the other woman. "Wait, so you're trying this long distance crap without putting a name on it?" When you nod, she winces. "That has to suck. I think I'll stick with being dumped. At least I know it's over."

"Not exactly a fairy tale," you mutter.

"Cheers." You clink glasses and this time drink the tequila.

It's strong and your eyes water. How the hell does Gail drink that stuff? She told you she does stupid things when drunk on tequila, and you remember body shots and wonder how much it would take to get her drunk on the stuff. One shot does not make you drunk, but you do unlock your phone and thumb a message.

"Drunk texting bad," warns your neighbor.

You hit send regardless. You just need her to know you miss her. "She's at work anyway."

The other woman frowns. "In Toronto? It's like … three AM."

"Four," you correct. "She's working the late shift this week." But at this hour, she may be asleep anyway. When no reply comes, you're pretty sure she's busy or she's asleep. "Three hours off. Five hours away by plane. About 40 hours if you drive. 2300 miles. 4200 kilometers. If you biked it, it's 2800 miles and apparently there's a thing called the Cowboy Trail."

"So you haven't thought about it at all," says your friend, dryly.

"Nope, not a bit." You both laugh. It's not very funny at all. "How come you're here?"

She jerks her thumb at the door. "The ex is packing. I'm avoiding break up sex that's supposed to make me feel better."

You smirk. Gail said firmly that you were not having 'break up' sex, but it was pretty damn good. "Make up sex is nice," you say wistfully.

"Not as nice as lives-with-you sex."

Fair enough. "Not to put an end to our stunning conversation, but I'm going home."

Your friend lifts her glass, refilled, and suggests, "You should figure out if you want to be here or there."

"Working on it," you confirm.

You pay your tab and call a Lyft, since the taxis here get lost more than you do, and the BART smells at 1AM. The BART smells all the time. And the city has no concept of public transportation. Gail learned not to get you started on the bus situation.

It's not till you're home that your phone rings, and yes, it's Gail. It's nearly five for her.

"Hey," you greet her, feeling really awkward. "You didn't have to call."

"I know," she replies. "But you never text me in the middle of the night. You okay?"

"It's only two here," you point out.

"Holly," she sighs at you.

"I miss you," you tell her. It's the same thing you said in that text. The same three words. They still feel painful and empty.

She's quiet for a moment and you hear the metal clang of what's probably her locker. "I miss you too." Her voice is soft. You like that voice. You could do without the loud chatter around her though.

You fall onto your couch. "Did I make a mistake? I miss you. All of you guys, but mostly you. I even miss Lisa." She snorts at you, but doesn't interrupt. "I miss snow. It's just wet and grimy here, all the damn time. They don't have summer at all, and just screw public transportation." You continue to vent about it until she asks how work is and you pause. "Work's good," you mutter. It's a lie. Work's awesome.

The silence drags and Gail clears her throat. "Oliver recommended me for T.O.," she tells you, offhandedly.

"Wow, that's good, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah it is. He's even letting me run a couple parades." Which means things are good for her too. "I finally found a good apartment, too. Kinda near Steve's, but he'll have to actually check if I'm home before showing up." And now Gail catches you up to the latest news, half happy, half awkward, until you ask about Sophie and now she pauses. "Yeah," she mutters.

That 'Yeah' says it all. "Honey, I'm sorry."

"I was a long shot anyway," she says, as if she doesn't care. "Oh, did I tell you Oliver's making me stay on the stupid softball team?"

You smile. "You did," you remind her.

You're both silent again until you groan. "Can you come visit?"

"Get on a plane and just zip over for Christmas?"

"I was thinking Thanksgiving."

She laughs. "Wish I could. I'm out of vacation days."

You already knew that. "But I'll see you in Feburary."

"In 75 days," confirms Gail. "Why are you so mopey?"

You exhale loudly. "I was at a bar." And you tell her about the whole 'girlfriend in Canada' trope, which she finds hilarious, and the stranger at the bar. "And then I came home because I really miss you a lot."

"That is weirdly romantic," she says without teasing you at all. Then she yawns. "I need to go sleep, Holly. You okay?"

Let's see. You're alone in a foreign country without the woman you're in love with, in a shitty apartment you hate, but your job rocks. "I'm fine," you lie.

Gail seems to sense that. "Listen, you know you're my girlfriend, right?" And the world stops for a moment. Apparently you're silent for a long moment, because suddenly Gail is hallooing in your ear. "Please confirm existence, Holly."

"Uh." You are so damn eloquent. "I'm your girlfriend?"

"Pretty sure that's what you call the woman you have sex with," Gail notes, dryly. Then she pauses. "Unless… I mean, I thought we were."

"We didn't call it anything," you point out, trying to figure out if she changed, you changed, or you just didn't notice.

"Yeah, I don't call my gun anything either, and it's still my gun," sasses Gail. "Look, this one's simple. I like you, a lot. I miss you. When I see you, I want to kiss you and be with you and I'm spending all my vacation days I can on flying to stupid America just to see you. If that isn't 'girlfriend' then I need to —"

"No!" You are a bit too loud and she laughs. "Yes, I mean. You. Girlfriend. You're mine."

"Suave," she laughs. "Okay. Good. And remember to show all those stupid lesbians my photo so they know you have a hottie girlfriend in Canada."

You smile so hard it hurts a little. "Okay." It's all you can say right now. "Is now a good time to drop ILUs?"

The noise Gail makes tells you she's screwing her face up into a 'what the hell?' expression. "ILUs?" Then someone on her side of the phone is loud. "Oh! Seriously? People still say that? You're so incredibly weird, Holly. I love you."

And there she went and said it first. "Who was that?"

"Chloe," dismisses Gail. "But I do."

"It's not fair you said it first," you whinge, but you're still smiling too much. "I love you too, Gail."

"Okay then. Go to sleep. I'll call you tomorrow. Today. Later today."

The goodbyes take too long. Both of you keep saying goodbye until Gail finally snaps in her funny, petty way and tells you to stop being so weird. And there's one last 'I love you' trade before she hangs up.

You stay on the couch, smiling, hugging your phone.

You still miss her. You miss her terribly. But now you feel like you have something a little more to hang on to. Something to make the next 75 days more bearable.

And a few weeks later, at a different bar, when you tell someone you're sorry but you have a girlfriend, you say it with lightness in your heart.

"I have a girlfriend, in Canada, and she's awesome."


	2. Nevada

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I probably shouldn't listen to silky pop music. This is a surprise continuation that happened when Carrie Underwood was playing and I was bored in a managerial meeting. Much like a second chapter wasn't planned, what just happened to Gail and Holly was seriously unplanned.

Your head is pounding.

"Crap," you mutter as you muster the ability to squint one eye open. Even in the opulent Vegas hotel rooms, you were washed with neon. Why did you always end up drunk in Las Vegas? And not just drunk, but totally wasted drunk. "I am never drinking again." Twice. You had been there twice and you had nearly gotten black out drunk twice, which was so phenomenally stupid and dangerous... When had you become your mother?

You squeeze your eyes closed and wonder how much of a repeat this Vegas trip is about to be. The first time, the last time you'd come to Vegas had been with Nick. It had been his idea to go. A road trip over the summer. Just go to America, where you had never been, and see the sights. Because you had been to Europe multiple times, but never the States, and it sounded like fun.

You remembered taking Nick's beater truck, because that seemed wiser than his motorcycle, which you didn't know how to drive, and going to New York, then across to Chicago, then you found Route 66, which was a bust and really boring, so you went to the Grand Canyon and up to Las Vegas.

And then you had gotten really, really drunk, crashed a Bar Mitzvah, gotten kicked out of your scuzzy cheap hotel, played slots and blackjack until you made enough to stay at a better hotel, and then... That was where it got a little fuzzy. You're pretty sure that was when Nick suggested you just get married. Because you were having so much fun. And you, drunk you, flippantly agreed, which was a stupid, stupid idea in retrospect. You're fairly certain that whatever attitude of yours is why he never made it down the aisle.

That was the most embarrassing moment of your young life. Standing there, with an Elvis impersonator, holding a bouquet handed to you by the couple who'd gotten married right before you, waiting for Nick to walk down the short aisle. Only no Nick. And when you went outside, no Nick. Of course, you had his truck, which was interesting, so you sobered up right fast, screamed his name, and drove his truck back to Canada. You left the stupid truck parked illegally outside his apartment and then made sure it was towed, just to drive home the point.

"It was your own fucking idea, too," you complain to the Nick who most certainly is not there. There would be no more Nick in your bed, you knew that much.

"Please stop talking," groans Holly.

Well. That was an improvement to the last time you had been blind drunk in Las Vegas. You open your eyes all the way and see the cringing brunette try to shove her head under the pillow. You cannot help but smile and roll over, smoothing your hand across Holly's back. The contrast of your skin color on hers is still so thrilling. Admittedly you can make anyone look tan, but you make Holly look so incredibly sexy... Maybe she's just sexy and you were slow to catch on. Does it matter? Not in the slightest. "Hey," you say quietly.

"Not kidding. I know where to hide bodies."

Grinning more, you stretch alongside Holly, making sure to touch as much of her as possible. No talking. No problem. You kiss her shoulder and rest your head back down. You could lie here with Holly forever. For as long as it took for the universe to notice either of you were missing. Admittedly, with Elaine Peck for a mother, that would be about five days, if history proved anything.

Elaine would not be looking for you until Wednesday, though, because not only had this trip been planned, but Elaine was in on it, even if she didn't really know why. Holly was speaking at a forensics conference and, coincidentally enough, so were you. Traci was sure it was a joke when your name was up as the Toronto representation. Dov swore it was your Peck family ties. Andy thought nepotism, which she swore wasn't related to family ties (and you told her she was a moron). Chris and Nick were both confused, but supportive. Chloe didn't dare have an opinion. Oliver... Well he didn't know what to make of it, and only asked if you were sure.

Dov was the most right.

Shocking everyone, you had actually pushed your mother about it, insisting you could do well, that you would be great, talking about medical jurisprudence from the beat cop angle (that topic had made Holly laugh). As soon as Traci saw Holly's name on the website, though, she knew what was going on and helped you prep for hours. Every night she went over the talk with you. Every iteration of every word she checked. And for the first time in the history of ever, you hadn't been scared to speak in public.

All because you would do anything for a paid vacation with your long distance girlfriend. The totally awesome girlfriend in California who told you that your talk was awesome.

While you technically had checked into your own hotel room, you had barely seen it, spending all your free time, any time you two didn't have to be in public, in Holly's. Somehow you both a managed to get to the lectures and give your own. You even met some new people and some of Holly's friends from her work in San Francisco. But mostly you'd made time to spend in her arms, making up for all the lost time living so far apart.

You liked her room, mostly because it had her naked in it, and now that the conference was over, you had no intentions of leaving it for the next two days before you checked out. This room was for sex and maybe room service. So yes, you're perfectly willing to snuggle in the bed with decent sheets and annoying neon lights outside, since you've got Holly for a few more days.

... Except ... These sheets are really good. Like better than the ones your mother buys. That's not how they were in the hotel yesterday. You may be hung over, but you're a cop and a Peck and you can't help but pay attention to this kind of thing. You lift your head and look at the room again. There are your clothes, dumped in piles, and the bed is on the same side of the room to the window. But the view wasn't the one you got used to from Holly's room. For starters, you're a few more stories up. You stare at the outside for a while before you can find your voice.

"Uh, Holly?"

Your girlfriend is still not happy. "No. Talking."

Someone has the worse hangover, and it isn't you for a change. You don't want to ask, but you hope she knows. "Holly, where are we?"

First Holly growls, "Gail, I love you, but I am going to kill you." Then the scientist's brain kicks in. Your words sink in. Her eyes open and blearily fix on you with a look of worry. "What?"

"This isn't your hotel room... And it's not mine." You picked the cheapest, tiniest room you could find. You didn't want to feel guilty about never being there.

Holly struggles to push her glasses on and blink at the room. "Where the hell are we?"

You look at each other, confounded. "Well it's official," you groan as you fall back onto the bed, pushing the heels of your plams into your eye sockets. "I'm never getting drunk like that again."

The bed shifts as Holly gets up. "Apparently we're at the Mandarin Oriental ..."

You lift up your hands to eyeball her. "How can you possibly know-" And you stop as Holly holds up the little 'welcome to our hotel' book. "Okay. We're at a hotel in the center of the strip with hangovers, and you're still naked by the way. We're supposed to be at the Marriott."

Holly walks into another room, which boggles your mind for a moment, and comes back in a robe, carrying another. "This is a suite."

"Yeah? When do you think they're going to kick us out?" You take the robe but don't pull it on. Maybe you can get one more round in on this really nice bed before the security dorks show up.

"Good question," winces Holly, looking around. "Why is our luggage here?"

"What?" You sit up all the way and see your suitcase propped up against the wall. It's still got the scar from when Nick dropped it accidentally on purpose when he helped you move out of the frat house.

You sigh and pick up the phone, knowing there's only one way to figure this out. Hesitating a moment, you press the button for the front desk. "Good morning, Mrs. Stewart. Are you and your wife ready for the massage?"

And now you just stare at Holly. The what? What did this woman say? Why was she boldly assuming only Holly would answer the phone? Wait. She'd said 'Mrs. Stewart' and not Dr… What time warp had you just fallen into? "Uh ... No. No, I just forgot when checkout was."

"The day after tomorrow, ten AM. You have the three day package."

"Oh. Good." Your brain has shut down. This must be what an aneurysm is like.

"Shall I send up breakfast or just something to drink? Many people like to fast before a massage."

You blink again. "Uh. Holly. Do we want breakfast before or after the massage?"

Holly stares back at you like you've just sprouted a third eye. "What?" So you repeat the question. "After...?"

"After," you say into the phone. "And, er, the massage in half an hour?"

"Excellent. I'll have them sent up. Don't worry about tips, it's all been included in your package."

"Awesome, because I don't have a clue where my wallet is right now," you admit.

"Yes, I believe that was why we arranged it that way yesterday. Have a wonderful morning, Mrs. Stewart, and congratulations to both of you again."

Thanking the woman weakly, you hang up. You have no words. There's only one answer for why the woman said what she did, and it's a little staggering. Holly has some words. "What was that about? Gail ... I didn't know you could get more pale."

Ignoring Holly for a moment, you scramble out of bed and dig through the clothes on the floor. "Crap." Nothing. So you look around and spot Holly's purse. Not caring that you're bare ass naked and some masseuse is due in half an hour, you rush over and root through it. In Holly's purse you find your phone (dead battery), your own wallet, and a poorly folded set of papers jammed in there.

"Gail, why are you digging in my purse?"

"Uh... Well. Technically it's mine too, apparently." You plug your phone in and read the paperwork, all three pages, and feel your entire life ripple. What _do_ you remember? There was the final party at the convention, at the mid-tier, generic hotel on the other side of the Strip. You remember dancing with Holly and laughing about the raffle when you put in for something random. It had been a hotel package? That sounded like something you'd do. Use it as an excuse to come visit Holly again, because her trip here had only been an hour or so.

Holly makes an annoyed noise. "You're not making any sense. And why are we having massages and breakfast? And when do we have to leave?"

"Day after tomorrow at ten and apparently this is some honeymoon package." You read the paperwork twice, but it doesn't change the words at all. "Oh god, my mother is going to kill me," you whisper as the gravity of what's happened sinks in.

"Honey, I don't think we need to tell your mother about getting drunk in Vegas."

You laugh weakly. "We might need to tell her about getting married in Vegas," you remark, and hold over the papers.

Holly looks stunned. "We did not." But she takes the papers and now you know what Holly looks like when she's pale. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it's not her best look. "Oh my god. They _do_ same sex weddings?"

It's too bizarre for words and more than your bruised brain can handle. "I think. I am going to shower. And we should probably figure out what we're supposed to wear for a massage..." Not that you have a lot of options, now that you look at the room. Your luggage doesn't have a lot to wear in it intentionally. You'd planned on having more time naked. Nope nope nope. Shower.

Dear god. You're married. Not that it's a horrible thing to be married to Holly, but the gaping hole in your memory is galling. Why do you get to remember the non-marriage to stupid Nick but not the actual one to wonderful Holly? What did she wear? Probably the slacks and shirt that were in the pile on the floor right now. Still. You wish you could remember if she gave you that dippy smile curved up that broke your heart and wound it tighter and safer.

If there's anything you know, it's that you do love her. Your life's been hard with her in San Francisco, but you'd rather have that then try being without her. Everything that was wrong about your relationships with Nick or Chris is right with her.

As you get out of the shower a little while later, and Holly steps in, you're still at a loss for words, but starting to feel weird. It's still an unfamiliar feeling, something you're sure you should recognize, but can't just then. "So I looked up annulments and we'd have to be a resident here."

"Wow." You sit down on the stool in the bathroom and stare at her. The world just crashes around you.

"Wow what?"

"Wow, I'm kind of hurt that your first thought is that we should divorce?"

It's surprisingly painful, and that's when you're sure you'd been feeling happy in the shower. Because for one beautiful brilliant moment you saw it all laid out in front of you. Holly would work in San Francisco until her contract was up. You'd keep coming to visit, and she would come to visit, until then. And you'd fly down to help her pack up the tiny apartment she hated and drive back to Canada to a kind of run down house like the one Oliver pointed out to you the other day. You would fix up the house together and figure out the kind of family you'd be, because hey, you were married.

Except this woman you love (love? yes love) shoots that down before you find the words to tell her you do want to spend the rest of your life with her.

Holly turns off the water and opens the shower door to look at you in confusion, "You want to be married?"

"I love you," you point out.

The skin on her cheeks reddens a little more, already flushed from the water. "Honey, I know. that"

"Well," you mutter peevishly. "It's just fucking awesome to find out your girlfriend doesn't want to be married."

Holly's face tightens. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Don't put words in my mouth, Gail." Holly grabs the towel angrily, scowling.

And you know better, you really, really do. One of those things you learned early on about a long distance relationship was not to do this, not to pick on specific words said in a moment, because you often missed the facial cues over the phone and on Skype or Facetime. But you still do it right now because, despite it all, you still are a little bratty and immature when you're in your worst moments. "You said annulment." You can't keep the bitterness out of your tone. To be honest, you don't even try.

Holly stops and looks at you. Of all things, you see her face soften. It's unexpected and throws you off. You'd expected a shouting match like the last time you picked on her words like that, and instead you get a tender look from the woman who salvaged your hair in her bathtub over a year and a half ago. How does she manage to look at you like you're not broken, just different, and it's all okay because she's not leaving you? "Gail, your first thought was that your mother would kill you."

"She still might," you mutter, on unsteady emotional ground. And it occurs to you that she may not have noticed how much shit you were in with your family. So you don't accuse, you ask, "Did you read the whole thing?"

"What whole thing?"

"Both pages?"

Frowning, Holly pulls her robe back on and goes back to the bedroom area. A moment later you hear her swear, "Oh my god."

Ah. So she _had_ missed it. Party #1 was Holly Marie Stewart. Party #2 was Abigail Francis Peck. That was fine. It was the fact that the names on the certificate that was a problem. Gail (no one would care about that) Francis Stewart, née Peck. Gail Stewart. Oliver was going to have a hoot with that one.

"I think that's justified fear," you point out and massage your temples as you walk into the couch area. God everything hurt.

"You took my name," whispers Holly.

"Yep." You don't really mind. Peck is a powerful name in Toronto. But given the choice between Holly and her family, you know you would pick Holly. And she knows it. You've told her that many times. You not leaving Toronto has nothing to do with the Pecks and everything to do with other responsibilities. That and, you admitted one night, you were scared. She understood that.

Still, now the gravity of what she said, about the annulment, sinks in fully. "Oh. Honey." She sits down on the couch beside you and stares at the papers in her hands. "I don't know what to say."

"That makes two of us," you sigh. So you say nothing. She slowly reaches over and her fingers find yours.

There you sit, holding hands. You a little morose, her a little guilty, and that's how you're still feeling when the pair of masseuses arrive. They're both rather handsome men, which sets you into a giggle fit. Holly tries to look stern but your laughter is apparently infectious. Maybe it's just the stress and shock working its way through your system.

The masseuses don't seem bothered and set up their tables for you both in the living room. After you joke about how the hotel room is bigger than Holly's apartment, you both lie down and are massaged into gelatinous, relaxed, silence.

There's a surprising delight to be found in the sensation and your brain blanks out pleasantly. The fact that the massage ends with a planned room service would have been bliss enough. But it also comes with a 'reminder' itinerary. You have reservations for dinner and a show starting at seven. Your dresses will be ready by four.

While you go over the plan for the day, Holly calls to make sure you're both checked out of the Marriott. You'd planned to spend an extra few days in town anyway, mostly having sex, but you hadn't intended to do it in this ritzy hotel. It's in Holly's phone call that you find out what happened from a very chatty desk clerk who, after all, had actually attended your engagement party. And you apparently tipped her very well.

One of the conference speakers had thought it would be fun to get marriage licenses in Las Vegas. So over the lunch break, you'd all gone down to the country clerk's office and gotten them. After all they weren't valid unless you had a ceremony within a year. It was a cheap laugh at $60. You remember that now. The fact you hadn't before was less about being drunk and more about thinking it was a joke. But then, the last night of the conference, you had bid on a honeymoon package at the fundraiser. Weirdly, you'd won it. And since you'd been drinking, when you were teased about being able to get married _now_ , the fates conspired to have that happen. It did not involve Elvis, thank god.

And thus, there you were, on a honeymoon following a very real impromptu wedding. You bother to flip through your own phone once it's charged a little and find out that Holly indeed wore the clothes that were left on the bedroom floor, as did you. And yes, she did smile that quirky lip-tilt you loved so much. But you? You smiled ear to ear like it had been your birthday, Christmas, and Easter all in one, and yet far better than all of them. You look as perky as you did the day you got cut loose at Fifteen. There are photos of you and the people you met at the conference. Photos of Holly's friends from work.

"More coffee?" Holly is being very polite, and it is totally weirding you out. Her phone was filled with texts of jokes and congratulations. Apparently everyone was drunk enough to think it was just a fun thing. They wanted you two to 'fake' being married, but the swanky hotel, finding out you had the license, offered to actually include a quick ceremony for free. Vegas. Only in Vegas. And this was not going to stay in Vegas.

"Holly," you sigh. You know you should talk about this weirdness. You just don't know where to start. So you start with the part you hate and don't want at all. "If you don't want to be married, we can figure something out-"

"I don't want an annulment," she blurts and surprises you. "I ... I thought if this was just a stupid drunk thing, you shouldn't regret it."

It surprises you. None of that is what you were expecting her to say. "Regret what?"

"Me," she says in a shocking tiny voice.

You stare at her, wondering briefly if these moments of doubt would be less if you lived together. Would she not panic about things like she had when she didn't know what to call you back in November? Would she be less pained and lonely? You know you would. You know your nice apartment would be less dreadfully empty if she was there. You don't regret anything about her and you're sure you never will because everything good and right that's happened in the last few years has all been related to her. Holly's the person who takes you as you are and loves you as you are and you regret nothing.

But in the moment it takes you to ponder that, Holly launches into babble mode.

"I know living apart is hard, and I barely get to see you except for a week at a time, and I know I love you, but it's so- so hard. I miss you all the time, but I love my job, and sometimes it's just not enough to talk to you on the phone. I want to be with you but I don't want you to be as miserable as I am when I'm not-"

That's when you cut her off. You do it the only way you know how, leaning in and taking hold of her face. You pull her in and softly kiss her, trying to put in the kiss what you cannot say in words. "Holly, you need to shut up."

"Sorry," she whispers, covering your hands with her own.

"I don't regret it. You. Anything."

"Oh. But... You didn't say anything and I -"

Shaking your head, you kiss her again. "If I didn't feel like jello right now," you say as quietly as you can. "I would drag you back into that bed."

She laughs and leans into you, easily fitting in your arms. "It was a really nice massage."

You run your fingers through her hair and smile. "I do hate being thousands of miles away from you, Holly," you admit. "But it's better than not having you at all. You make me better and ... I love you, so we're gonna make this work."

With a large exhale, Holly all but hunkers down against you. "We better. We got married."

"I took your name."

"You'll always be my Peck."

The enormity and hilarity of the fact that you did actually get married makes you laugh. And it makes her laugh. And finally when you make it through the laugh, you kiss again and get back in bed. Because you are married and you should celebrate that. And you have days and weeks in which you can figure out how to explain what happened to everyone else. But in the end it doesn't matter at all what they think or how much your mother will harass you for changing your name, or anything other than the one simple fact.

You've got a wife.

Sure, she lives in California and you live in Ontario. But she loves you and you love her and you will figure out how to make it all work.

You have a wife in California, and she's awesome.


	3. Ontario

You aren't surprised Gail waited until you got to Toronto to spring the news on anyone. Quite honestly, hearing what you have of her mother, you might have as well. Your mother, on the other hand, stared at you for a good minute before laughing so hard she cried. Then she hugged Gail and kissed her cheek and teased you both all while waiting for your father to come back from the plant. Your father just sighed and shook his head.

But Superintendent Mom is a whole different story, and you're about as scared as Gail is when you get to the door. It's the monthly Peck dinner, at the Peck House, which looks so incredibly Peckish it's silly.

"Are you ready?" Gail asks the question in a low, querulous voice.

"No," you admit freely.

She squeezes your hand. You still don't have rings, even though you've been married for a few months now. This is the first time you've seen each other in the flesh since leaving Las Vegas, though, so you feel like you can be excused. True, you've been in town for a week, but there was a lot of interviews and negotiations and sex. Lots of that.

"Let's get this over with," she sighs and unlocks the door. "Mom, Dad, we're here."

A surprised reply comes from deep within the house. "We?" You're pretty sure the voice is Elaine's.

A grey haired man pokes his head around the hallway corner. This is Bill Peck, you realize. He smiles genially at you both, eyes darting to your joined hands. "Sweetheart, Holly's here."

A bottle dyed red head pops out from the same location, blue eyes surprised and wide. There's a blue and white dish towel on her shoulder. "Oh. Steven, please set another place on Gail's side." Elaine looks you up and down, scrutinizing you, and you feel suddenly dowdy. "Gail, dear, why didn't you tell me?"

"I forgot," sighs Gail. You know she didn't. You know she told you she wasn't feeling up to explaining this on her own, and thus had been avoiding her mother.

Elaine is sharp and narrows her eyes at her daughter. "Well at least I know why you've been ditching me this time. Hello, Holly. It's nice to finally meet you." Elaine dries off her hands on the towel and extends one.

You hesitate a moment and let go of Gail's hand to shake your mother-in-law's hand. She doesn't know that. "I'm sorry it took so long," you admit. You are, too. You'd been kind of looking forward to meeting her the first time.

"You missed Gail's cheerful proclamation of her lesbianism at dinner," chuckles Bill. He takes your hand in turn.

"My, yes, that was one of the more colorful dinners we've had in a while." Elaine smiles as well, though, as if all the drama of Gail's sexuality was entertaining and blown past. "Bill, will you get the wine?"

Behind you, Gail mutters, "God yes, because this needs booze."

You poke her as you step back. "Hush you."

Both Pecks smile, delighted to see you rein in their daughter. Gail grumbles, "I'm just saying, dinners here need to be well lubricated."

Bill rolls his eyes at Gail, giving you a look of long suffering. "Go say hello to your brother, Gail."

Gail side-eyes you and takes your hand, leading you through the hallway. "Kitchen, dining room, sitting room's through there. TV is downstairs in the Man Cave. The idiot there setting the table is still my stupid brother."

The red-haired Steve Peck is setting the table with his girlfriend, Traci Nash. "Holly!" Steve whoops and bounces over to hug you. "Thank god. I was getting tired of super grumpy Peck."

"Shut up, Steve."

The siblings don't hug, which you're used to, but Traci does hug Gail and then you hello as well. "Holly! Gail told me about Vegas."

Your eyes go wide. "Oh?" Gail had left you to understand that no one knew about the marriage.

"Who do you think helped her practice?"

It takes a second before you realize that Traci was in on the plan to get you two together in Las Vegas. "Oh! Thank you for that," you smile. "She was marvelous."

Gail groans. "Come on, I want to show Holly the house before we Peck her to death."

You're sure Steve thinks something is up, but he just nods. "Go show her your room, Champ."

"Thanks, Cap," she mutters, taking your hand and heading for the stairs. On the way, she points to her mother's office saying it was where all the dressing downs happened. Then you're up the stairs and she waves a hand at Steve's room. His door is open and it looks like a normal room, devoid of childhood.

Her own room has a sign with flowers that looks so unlike Gail, you laugh. "Abigail," you smile. She'd taped over the 'Abi' at some point.

"Yeah, that won't be a big deal."

No one called her Abigail. "Why did Steve call you Champ?"

"I'm the Champion of the Universe," she replies blithely and opens her door.

The room is painted black, including the furniture. You're sure that Elaine must have blown a gasket at it, since nothing matches the rest of the house. Punk and rock posters cover the wall, Green Day and Sex Pistols and Luscious Jackson among the many. The bed is covered in a navy comforter with dark sheets.

"Subtle protest," you note. "Why didn't Elaine take all this down?"

"I haven't been out of the house that long. She keeps expecting me to move back."

You nod. Your parents have left your room intact as well, and you live in another country. "I hope you don't. I can't imagine eating breakfast with you here."

"Not breakfast like this week," leers Gail.

You laugh. Breakfast has been in bed, naked, twice already. That would not be done here, you suspect. "No. Not that either."

Gail flops on the bed and groans. "Holly, I can't do this. I don't want to be yelled at in Mom's office."

You check the hallway and close the door. "She won't. You're a grown up."

"Please, Holly, nothing makes a parent treat you like a child more than breaking their plans."

You walk around the room, picking up the little memories of young Gail. There's a photo album with ticket stubs and pictures of Gail in school. There's a report card with all As stuck to the wall, including gym class. There's a triptych of pictures of Gail in middle school, college, and in uniform, all with her family, in growing degrees of seriousness. The older Gail gets in the photos, the less happy she looks. It doesn't match the mental image of the smiling, loving, happy Gail you carry in your head.

"How did they take your coming out?" You were, retrospectively, sorry you'd missed that. Not just as a girlfriend but as a supportive friend. Coming out was always hard.

"Okay," she sighs, not sitting up. "Dad laughed until he realized I wasn't joking. Mom said it explained the haircut. Steve said he owed Nick $100."

You shake your head and sit down beside her. "It could be worse." Lisa had been disowned, after all. When it's clear Gail isn't sitting up, you lean down and kiss her lightly.

After a momentary surprise, Gail smiles and slides her arms around you. "You know, I've never made out with anyone in here."

Smiling back, you let her draw you into a longer kiss, lingering until the want is too much and your hands start to roam a little. The knock at the door stops you from getting too far into things.

"Gail. Mom's about to complain about her sauce, so get your hand out of Holly's pants and come downstairs." The footsteps quickly recede.

"Fuck you too, Steve." Gail sighs loudly, kisses you one last time, and gets up. "Okay, you ready?"

You hold your hands out and Gail takes them to haul you up. "If it's us, we can do anything."

Gail's return smile is wobbly and pathetic, but she leads you back downstairs. You sit across from Steve, Gail from Traci, and begin one of the more awkward dinners of your life. It occurs to you, as Steve asks you to pass the salt, that the Pecks resemble dogs circling each other, seeking out some hidden weakness. Except they've known each other for so long and so well that the fight is unfair.

First Bill, who appears so gentle, probes Gail, asking how the TO role is going. Gail demurs that it's fine and her rookie is doing well. Traci is brought in too, being asked about making full detective, and then it's on to Steve and is he any closer to being the lead detective for Guns and Gangs. And so it goes, around and around, until finally Elaine asks you about the elephant in the room.

"So. Holly. What brings you back from, what was it, San Francisco?"

You're sure Elaine knew it was San Francisco just fine. "I came to visit Gail," you reply simply.

Beside you, Gail smiles and reaches for your hand under the table. "Just a visit?" Bill looks surprised. "That's a long way. Gail, didn't you just see Holly in Las Vegas?"

She nods. "Three months isn't 'just' seeing anyone."

"That whole distance thing must be hard."

"We're trying, Dad."

"Glad to see you're trying something," sighs Elaine. "Honestly, sweetheart, muddling your way along is hardly a career."

"My career is just fine, Mom," Gail sighs, though where Elaine's is long suffering, Gail's is tired and weary. "How's your new assistant? Branson?"

And Elaine was off, talking about how he was very capable as an assistant, though unimpressive as a police officer. You start to piece together why Gail is so touchy about her chosen career. It was not her choice, that's for sure. Gail and Steve were both moulded into their paths, and while they protest here and there, for the most part they trudged along, becoming what was expected.

As you think about that, you lose the thread of the conversation until you hear your own name came up as an example of someone who doesn't let her whims get in the way of her position. "It's not that," you start and Gail rolls her eyes. You wonder why for a second until you see that Elaine and Bill are having their own conversation to the exclusion of the children.

Finally, though, Elaine makes a comment that has you bristling. "It's just not worthy of the Peck name, Gail," says the matron. "A training officer is a good stepping stone, but you can't just malinger."

Bitterly, Gail replies, "I suppose it's good I'm not a Peck anymore."

That kills conversation. It's not how you would have presented them with the situation, but you can't fault Gail in this moment. Steve and Traci stop and stare at Gail, trying to parse that sentence. They're all smart cops, you remember, and watch as varying degrees of comprehension settles on their faces. Elaine and Bill clearly can't believe it.

It's Bill who finds his voice first, clearing his throat. "Gail, dear, what are you saying?"

She lets go of your hand and digs into her pocket, handing over the papers to her father. "I mean I'm not a Peck anymore. I filed the papers at work yesterday afternoon."

Bill reads the papers carefully, one page at a time. You don't know why your first impressions of Bill was that he was easy going. He's just as hard as his wife and the look of silent disappointment is weighty and staggering. You feel as in you're suffocating and it's not even aimed at you. How can Gail or Steve take it this casually? They've already gone back to eating, while you and Traci look like you're drowning.

When his silence hangs too long, Elaine scowls. "William?"

But all Bill can do is shake his head, clearly at a loss of words.

"He's trying to figure out how to tell you I got married," says Gail absently. "To Holly."

Now Elaine is quiet. She's gobsmacked. She looks like everything has collapsed around her. That must be what Gail was talking about when she told you Elaine had plans for her. Elaine had planned out Gail's entire life and now you and she had destroyed it. You've never seen a parent so angry before or so silent. It's stunning.

Steve looks thoughtful, though, as if this happens every day. As if this amount of hate and antagonistic force from their parents is normal. "When'd that happen, Champ?"

"Vegas." Gail, too, seems to think this normal. What the hell is wrong with their parents, you wonder, but you can't find your voice.

Traci's eyes bug out. "You didn't!" She looks right at you.

You sigh and rub your forehead. "It wasn't planned."

"I suppose it's too late for an annulment," muses Elaine, and Gail is suddenly shooting daggers at her mother with her eyes. If looks could kill, you're sure that Elaine would be dead. "But that doesn't make you not a Peck, sweetheart."

While Gail opens her mouth, her father cuts her off. "Gail Francis Stewart." He looks over at Gail, still disappointed. "Really?"

"No one calls me Abigail, Dad," she deflects.

The papers are handed over to Elaine, who is now narrowing her eyes at you. "Stewart. You're going through with this?"

"Gone. Past tense. Check the dates." Gail puts her fork and knife down.

"You can still professionally be—"

"Filed the paperwork end of shift yesterday," Gail says grimly. Game, set, match to the daughter, you realize.

There was some part of you that thought Gail and Steve exaggerated when they said how epically bad their family dinners were. When Elaine says, in a low voice, that she and Gail need to go talk, you realize they were underplaying. Gail says no. Flat.

"No?" Elaine is stunned. Bill is stunned. Steve looks like it's Christmas as the papers end up in his hands.

"No, I'm not going to go into your office and have you yell at me like I'm a child for however long it takes to make you feel better, and me feel like shit. No, I'm not getting an annulment or a divorce and I'm not going to waste my time listening to you rant that I should. No. I'm tired of it. I don't need it." Gail's voice is steadier than yours would have been. More stable. She has grown in the short time you've known her, and it makes your heart swell. "Yes, I married Holly. I took her name. It's staying. She's staying. _We_ are staying."

"Well." Elaine puts down her cutlery. "Then I think we're done."

For a second, Gail looks pained. You're not sure why until she pushes back from the table. "Right." So does Steve. A heartbeat later, you and Traci share a look and realize exactly what's going on.

You've all been kicked out of the Peck house.

"Steven," says Elaine, warningly.

Your new brother-in-law shakes his head. "I'm sticking with Gail, Mom. Pecks are loyal, right?" Elaine looks slapped.

Traci looks pleased. "Everyone has a right to be happy," she says, giving Gail a knowing look.

Gail and Steve stand up and so do you. "Thanks for dinner," you say, totally at a loss for anything else to say.

You reach over to Gail and are relieved to have her fingers meet yours halfway in a hold that isn't restrictive. She's just checking you're there, like you are to her just now. She and Steve say nothing, leading the way out of the house.

Once the front door is closed, Gail exhales. "Yeah, so that went about as well as expected."

"I really thought you were kidding when you said your mother was going to kill you," you whisper. She shakes her head and kisses you softly.

"Give it a couple weeks at most," advised Steve. "Then she'll have a new plan and it'll all be back on." Neither he nor Gail seem all that put out.

"We got kicked out when Steve got his tattoo," smirks Gail. Traci looks shocked as Steve snaps that he had it removed. "A butterfly," she adds, and slaps her own butt.

Traci starts to laugh. "You really got married?" When you nod, Steve holds out the papers for his girlfriend. "Gail, you shit, why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you'd ask why and how and…"

"And Gail got drunk in Vegas and can't remember. Again." Steve chortles and Gail backhands him in the chest. "Bright side, Holly, she stole Nick's truck after their adventure and left it parked illegally."

"He left me at the fucking altar," growled Gail.

You squeeze her hand. "We won a honeymoon suite and apparently thought why not," you explain to Steve and Traci.

Gail sighs. "And before that we all thought it'd be fun to get licenses. They're not _real_ , y'know, unless you have a ceremony," she explains.

"Which we did."

You share a look that's equal parts embarrassed and pleased. "I'm not sorry," Gail says quietly. She's been saying a variation of that for three months now.

"No regrets," you reply. You've been saying that for the same amount of time.

Steve abruptly hugs you both. "Well Mom and Dad can be stupid. _I_ _'_ _m_ happy. For you. Now. Who's moving where?"

Leave it to the detective to ask that one. "I'm moving back to Toronto," you tell him, slipping an arm around him to hug him tightly, no matter how much Gail squirms.

As soon as you tell him that, Gail's face brightens with delight. "You got it?"

"I got it."

The blue eyes light up and warm you to your toes. "Professor Stewart," she laughs and shoves Steve so she can hug you properly.

"I think," decides Traci. "I think we need to go out to drinks. On us. To celebrate."

Gail, who is always up for food, raises her fist high in the air. "Yes! Wash the taste of Peck out of our mouths! Call Boob Job. She can come."

You take the magnanimous offer from your wife and it ends up to be a bit of a noisy affair. Fifteen Division is brought in and you take over the Penny with an impromptu wedding party. Gail's friends, no matter how dismissive she is about that title for them, bring a cake that was clearly bought last second. No one offers an apology for the 'Feliz Cumplianos' on the cake. Neither you nor Gail ask for one.

Your friends, delighted to see you again, are stunned to find out you're married. Lisa and Gail circle each other like dogs until you tell Lisa that you'd just walked out of Gail's parents house, mid dinner. Lisa, who doesn't talk to her family over her own sexuality, immediately softens and tells Gail to make you happy or else. At some point, Dov brings out trivia cards, and you and Gail eviscerate them. She's not blue collar and you know it. Lisa is surprised and apologizes.

There's very little drinking for you and Gail. You want to be sober and remember this party and so does she. You don't get back to Gail's apartment until the wee hours of the morning, a gasp before dawn when the city is just starting to wake up. You can't remember why you ever wanted to leave in the first place. Gail insists you stop at a corner bakery to get the first loaf from the oven, going so far to to flash her badge to get served even if the store isn't open.

You sit on her tiny deck, watching the sun rise between the buildings, and lean up against her while you nibble fresh bread. It's unlikely you'll stay here, in this apartment, forever, but right now it's the perfect place to be. You already know what furniture of yours will come along and what won't. Where your things will go with hers. You can see your future here, starting right.

"Hey," you say softly, digging into a pocket. "We should do this thing."

"What thing?" She looks curious and patient. You hold out a gift bag from the airport and she laughs. "You got me airport crap?" Like the child she can be, Gail opens the bag and pulls out the tiny bits of metal on cardboard. Stainless steel rings.

You watch her face carefully. "I know they're not real wedding bands or anything, but I thought now that everyone knows, we could maybe wear them."

She already has the price tags off and is checking which one is her size. It's on her hand before you can blink. "I kind of like this better than 'real' wedding rings."

"We should have picked some up in Vegas," you joke, and she smirks. She takes your hand and slides the ring on it. Holding your hand, she kisses the ring's spot.

"I don't care what order we do things in, Holly," she says earnestly. "You're going to move back here. We get to live together and be together. I can't wait."

There's time to plan the details later. Like how Gail will fly out and then drive back with you, taking a vacation and tour of either Canada or the US. Like how you need to send in your notice to the lab in San Francisco. Like how you need to explain to people that you're leaving a job you adore for a job you'll like a little less, all to be with the person you can't live without.

There's even time to deal with the fallout of Gail's insane family later, because you know the most important truth of them all.

You know that you and Gail are in this together. A team. And she's loyal. She won't leave you or abandon you. In the last year, she's grown up and become a person you love even more, which you hadn't thought possible. Maturity suits her.

You've got a wife, and a job now, in Canada. And it's awesome.


End file.
